Bottled Up
by Perfect by Nature
Summary: Sam and Dean have plenty of issues and Sam has to push it to find out what everything means.


Sam clutched the small glass tightly and blinked a few times - when had the bottle gotten so blurry?

He reached out to bring it into focus and cursed when he bumped it with his cast and it fell to the floor and shattered. The liquid formed a shiny pool on the wooden boards.

Sam stared at it for a moment, watching the light play on the expanding pool, and then reached down to dip his finger in, staring at the way ripples spread out. His finger caught on something sharp and for a moment he just gazed at the way his blood flowed out and whirled in the transparent alcohol. He hissed sharply and sat up quickly as the pain from the cut reached his brain and the room swirled around him. His stomach roiled sickeningly and Sam barely made it into the bathroom before he emptied his stomach into the toilet.

Then cool hands were there, stroking his back and smoothing the hair out of his eyes. He wanted to speak, but when he opened his mouth he spewed again. His head felt heavy.

"Shh… It's ok, Sammy."

Sam relaxed into the touch and finally got his retching under control. He sat back, leaned against Dean's legs and tried to breathe normally. Even the sickeningly sweet scent of perfume couldn't take away the comfort he felt at his brother's touch.

"Didn't they teach you how to drink in college?"

Sam tried to school a retort but the foul taste of vomit in his mouth made him gag and he struggled to his feet and bent over the washbasin, and grappled valiantly with the taps.

Dean reached over him, turned on the water and rubbed cool wet hands over Sam's face, pushing his hair back so it was smoothed flat against his head.

He closed his eyes and let the water calm him down until he no longer felt sick and started feeling more sober. He reached up for his toothbrush but Dean pushed his hands away and leaned over him and pulled it down for him, squeezing a stripe of toothpaste on and wetting it before handing it to Sam. He brushed his teeth quickly, washing away the foul taste.

Remembering why he'd gotten drunk in the first place, Sam pulled away from Dean and tried to stalk from the room, growling slightly to himself when he stumbled drunkenly.

He heard Dean stifle a laugh behind him and narrowed his eyes. "Where were you?" He slurred angrily.

The laughter stopped abruptly and Dean put a hand on his back and guided him to his bed. "At the bar, where do you think?" Dean pushed him down and knelt to pull his shoes off.

Sam glared down at him but felt better with the bed under him. "You know what I mean." he grouched.

Dean smiled indulgently up at him. "I was just having a few drinks, is that ok with you? Are you my jealous girlfriend now?" He chuckled.

Sam pouted, wishing his head felt clearer so he could argue this properly with his brother. "Why don't you spend more time with me?"

"Sam, we spend all day, every day together. Don't you feel the need to be away from me sometimes?" Dean pulled the covers over his brother and smoothed them down. Sam pushed them away petulantly and tugged at Dean's hand until he submitted and lay down next to him. Dean sighed and lay back with an arm folded under his head.

"Sometimes I think you aren't going to come back when you go out at night." Sam murmured. He was starting to feel sleepy and he threw an arm over Dean's chest and snuggled against him. Dean shifted uncomfortably but didn't try to stop him. He hadn't done this for so long and he'd forgotten how nice it felt. Dean's body was warm and soothing and Sam relaxed.

"Why would you think that?" Dean's voice was neutral.

"Because you always say that everyone leaves. Doesn't that mean you will too? I don't want you to leave. I always missed you when I was at college. No one else seemed to understand me like you do."

Dean stiffened slightly against him. Sam rubbed his head against Dean's shoulder. "I always wanted to call but I didn't want you to hang up on me. I didn't want to have to deal with you rejecting me completely."

"But you were the one who left." Dean's voice was quiet and strained, like the words were being dragged from him. "I… I wouldn't have hung up on you, Sammy."

"I know I left. I really thought that was the life I wanted. I wanted to be with you and Dad but sometimes I felt so suffocated… I wanted to find the bastard who killed Mom; but I also wanted a real home." Sam felt his eyes drooping and forced them open, he wanted Dean to hear this.

"I know. I think… I think Dad always knew that, but he didn't know how he could give you that and hunt for Mom's killer."

"Do you really think so?" Sam yawned and tightened his arm around Dean's chest.

"I'm sure of it. Now, go to sleep, all right? You're going to have a killer headache in the morning."

"I love you, Dean. You know that, right?" Sam asked sleepily, raising his head to capture Dean's eyes.

"Yeah, kid, I know."

Sam woke up the next morning with Dean wiggling to get out from under him. During the night they'd turned over so they lay with Sam's front to Dean's back, Sam's arm over Dean's waist and their legs tangled together.

"Sorry." Sam murmured, mouth dry and foul tasting. He rolled over and groaned, head pounding.

Dean got out of the bed and was back a moment later with a glass of water and some pills and made Sam sit up to drink them, which made his head swirl sickeningly and his stomach heave, but he managed to swallow them before gently laying back down.

Memories of the night before started coming back to him and he groaned again. Why the hell had he drunk almost a full bottle of tequila? He rolled over carefully and couldn't help grinning when he saw the shattered bottle on the floor near the small table.

"You made quite a mess." Dean crouched down and started picking up the pieces of glass.

"Sorry." Sam muttered, hoping the pills would kick in soon so he could move. He really needed to pee.

"Well, at least you made it to the bathroom before you decided to be sick." Dean said in a voice far too cheerful for so early in the morning. Sam glared at his brother's back then relaxed his features because even that hurt. Dean chuckled, and Sam was reminded of Dean's amusement the night before, as he'd put Sam to bed. Then, he remembered the conversation they'd had while he'd been falling asleep.

"Dean…" Sam began.

"I'm going to go get some coffee, do you want some?" Dean interrupted quickly, as if he knew what Sam was going to say.

Sam frowned and tried again. "Dean, wait-"

Dean stood and walked to the door. "I'll be back in a little while. Drink some more water," Then he was gone.

Sam sipped a little more water and felt the pounding in his head begin to ease. He got up and went to pee, wondering why Dean always made it so hard to talk to him.

Dean always managed to side-step Sam's attempts to talk, always managed to divert Sam from his task. He lay back in the bed and waited for Dean to come back from wherever he went.

Sam must have drifted off because he was jolted awake suddenly when Dean slammed the door and bustled around the small room.

"Dean, why don't we ever talk about Mom?" Dean stopped dead and his entire body stiffened but Sam didn't back down. Dean turned to look at him and Sam sucked in a breath when he saw Dean's eyes shimmering with emotion and his jaw hard and set. "Please, Dean." Sam said quietly.

Dean slammed down the coffee cup and stormed out of the hotel room. Sam lay back and sighed, talking to Dean never seemed to get any easier.

After a while Sam got up, showered and dressed and left the hotel room. He needed a drink.

Sam blinked and let himself slip out of his chair until he was sitting on the floor, then lying down. He stared at the ceiling, watching the mildew spots dance and move.

His fingers traced over the floor and he wondered at the feeling of the bumps and dips in the linoleum, how big were they really? Some of them felt huge, as big as his fingers, but that couldn't be right, could it?

He rolled himself onto his side to check, and rolled all the way onto his stomach, the dips and bumps suddenly too close, like miniature valleys and mountains. Sam felt thoroughly weirded out, he was sure that when he was standing there were no bumps, but here he was, eye to eye… well… not i eye /i to eye, eye to floor… eye to bumpy floor… his nose hit the linoleum and he screwed it up, that felt funny. What was he thinking about?

Sam gave a snort and suddenly his stomach decided to rebel against the copious amounts of alcohol he'd consumed and Sam felt vomit rise in his throat and sour his mouth. He gagged slightly and wondered abstractly if he might be able to make it to the bathroom before he actually threw up.

"Sam? Are you here- Fuck! Sam… Sam!" Dean shouted, running across the room to where Sam lay face down. "Oh, god… please, please don't be dead, please." Dean babbled.

Sam almost laughed but the real worry in Dean's voice penetrated the alcoholic haze in his mind and he tried to speak.

"Mhhnnn." He mumbled.

"Oh, God…" Dean muttered fervently. "Thank God." He grabbed Sam's shoulders and rolled him over, half pulling his younger brother onto his lap.

"What are you doing to yourself?" Dean stared down at his brother. Sam gagged weakly and Dean pushed him up, getting up himself then slipping an arm around Sam's waist and hauling him up. Sam's head lolled back against Dean's shoulder; he just couldn't seem to hold it up.

Dean walked him into the bathroom and deposited him near the toilet, holding him so he wouldn't fall. Sam sat there quietly for a moment then gagged and threw up noisily.

Dean swallowed hard, looked away and tried not to listen.

"Sam, you've got to stop doing this to yourself, you don't have enough brain cells to keep destroying them like this!" Dean gave a small worried half laugh. Sam growled and glared at him, then retched again, a thin watery bile dripping from his mouth. He groaned.

Dean's hand left his back for a moment but then he was back, pressing a glass of water into Sam's hand, fingers stroking Sam's back again.

Sam washed out his mouth and Dean flushed the toilet. Sam let himself slump against the toilet and rubbed his belly, as if that would calm it down.

"You never talk to me." Sam murmured drunkenly. Dean's hand tightened where it rested on his shoulder. "Please Dean. Why can't you understand that sometimes I need to talk, I need you to tell me things? I know that it's hard… harder now that Dad's… gone, but I think that's why we need to talk, more than ever."

Sam looked up at Dean, watched his jaw tighten again, and watched the muscles in his neck tense. "I'm not willing to get all deep and meaningful, so you get drunk?" Dean shook his head.

Sam pouted. There he went again, trying to side step the issue. "Jesus, Dean. I just want you to talk to me. I want to understand what's going on in your head, what you think about. What losing Mom and then Dad really mean to you."

"You don't ask for much, do you?" Dean said tightly. "Look, Sam, you might want to and all, but fuck, man. Leave it alone." He wrapped an arm around Sam's waist and hauled him up, half dragging him into the bedroom.

Sam didn't protest but didn't help either and Dean gritted his teeth at Sam's almost dead weight. He pushed him onto the bed and pulled the covers over him. Sam turned over, away from Dean and Dean could almost hear him pout.

He shook his head and went to get a glass of water to put beside Sam's bed for when he woke up. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

Sam awoke slowly, rolled over and groaned, the familiar pounding of his head a sore reminder of what he'd done the night before - again.

He looked over to Dean's bed, which was empty. "Dean?" He croaked, mouth dry.

No reply - he'd probably gone out for coffee.

With effort Sam raised his hand and looked at his watch. He shook it, disbelieving, there was no way it could be that time already. He looked over at the alarm clock on the bedside table and it confirmed what he couldn't believe, it was after 12pm.

He took a sip of the water Dean had left and the pills beside it, got up and peed and had a shower.

When he got out, Dean was sitting at the small table, two cups of coffee in front of him. He silently pushed one towards Sam and Sam walked over and sat down, taking a sip.

"Why do you always have to push things?" Dean asked quietly, startling Sam into inhaling too much hot coffee and he choked and spluttered for a moment, feeling the burn on his tongue and down his throat.

"I'm not trying to 'push' things, Dean. I'm just trying to talk. You know; make conversation, be a family. Normal people talk about things, they don't just bottle them up."

"And that's what you really want, isn't it, Sam? To be fucking i normal /i ." Dean said fiercely.

Sam narrowed his eyes and swallowed visibly. "Why is that so repulsive to you Dean? Why is not wanting to risk my life all the time such a bad thing? Why is wanting a home such a bad thing?"

"People who don't hunt demons don't always have a stable home, Sam, most people's lives are pretty fucked up, you know. At least we are doing something to maybe help people, so some evil son of a bitch doesn't kill them. At least we aren't just sitting on our asses, waiting for everything to come to us. And risking your life, fuck! People risk their lives everyday, just stepping out of their houses, no; even inside their homes by using electricity by…" Dean trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated.

Sam jumped up and started pacing. "Dean, I see where you're going with this and it isn't the damned point. This isn't about me wanting to be normal; this is about us… our family. This is about us never talking, always bottling everything up. Dad died and you never talk about it. You get violent… you get psychotic about the supernatural shit but you won't fucking open up! You wonder why I want to be normal… you give all these reasons against normal but as soon as we talk about your issues your mouth is sealed tighter than a vault."

Dean was out of his chair so fast Sam barely saw him move and Sam's shirt, slamming him against the wall. He was too close, harsh breath too warm on Sam's face.

"Stop pushing it, Sam! Why can't you just leave it alone? I don't talk about Mom because I don't want to be reminded of how she died, when I can barely remember her alive. I don't talk about Dad because these are my memories of him, I don't want to hear your version of him, of how he was too controlling and overbearing."

"I'm sorry you can't talk to me about Dad." Sam said quietly. "But with Mom? What do you think I want to hear about? God, Dean." Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration, Dean's hands almost burning through his shirt where they were still pressed to his chest.

"Why can't I have some things to myself? Why do you have to know everything?"

Dean pushed Sam back, turned and stormed out of the room.

"Because Dean…" Sam muttered to the space where his brother had been. "To me you are everything."


End file.
